Chasing Ghosts
by Ski October
Summary: "Together, they tried to forget about the two people – the ghosts they were so fruitlessly chasing – who had brought them to one another in the first place." Korroh. One-sided Makorra; one-sided Irosami. Mild sexiness.


_Honestly, I have no idea where the heaviness of this fic came from. Special thanks to _lovelydangerousdear _for obliging my request in her drabble series _Inservio_. It gave me the push I needed to get this oneshot written and posted, so please check her out once you've finished here. Enjoy!_

**DISCLAIMER: Korra, Iroh, Mako, and Asami belong to Bryke. The plot belongs to me.**

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The music was slow and steady, a soulful melody that made it easy to lose herself in the sound and in the steps of the dance that accompanied it. There were hundreds of people crowded into the Sato mansion for the engagement party and after Korra had drunk herself into a suitably light haze, she had allowed herself to be whisked away into the swirling mass of finely outfitted bodies. It never worried her that her partner might have been a total sleaze bag – a certain former Wolfbat captain was in attendance, after all – because La had been on her side for once, and blessedly that was not the case.

She stared up dazedly into a pair of molten eyes and felt a quiver run up and down her legs, turning her knees to liquid. Hair like rough black silk fell into those intense eyes and stuck to his sweat-slicked forehead. His full lips were parted slightly, allowing small puffs of hot breath to escape and fan over her face. He smelled of smoke and dark spices. She liked it.

The red of his military coat was unusually bright to her; everything about him was unusually bright to her. He eyes, his clothes, his very aura in the dimly lit hall. She was undeniably drawn to him, and perhaps that was the work of the fire whiskey that still burned in her throat. He pulled her closer when the music slowed even more, leaving them flush against one another. The proximity in itself was scandalous, nevermind that she could feel every line and ridge and plane of his body pressing closely – intimately – with her own. His lips were ghosting along the shell of her left ear and a delicious shiver shot down her spine, the precursor to an eruption of goosebumps. Her arms tightened around his neck and his hand gripped her hips, long fingers twisting the creamy silk of her evening gown.

She sighed, murmuring throatily when his lips pressed onto the side of her neck. She felt him speaking against her skin, incoherent sentences most likely meant to comfort her, or perhaps to distract herself. It might have been both, but Korra couldn't have cared less. She focused on the feel of his mouth on her, the heat of his body, knowing that the reality waiting beyond this was bleak and miserable. The smell of his own vice wafted up to her, something infinitely more potent than fire whiskey, something she had never tried. Something she wanted more of.

When he began to lead her from the dance floor – _out of the ballroom, down a dark corridor_ – she followed easily, desperate to claim whatever reprieve he could offer her from her pain; willing to do the same for him. When he backed her against the wall, mouth slanting hungrily over hers, Korra could almost pretend that the firebender currently exploring her mouth with an expert tongue was not the esteemed General of the United Forces. He was slighter of build, just a hair taller, a scathing remark ready on the tip of his sharp tongue.

She knew that when his hands traced over her – skimming her breasts, gliding along her waist – he was seeing someone else entirely. A slimmer, prettier girl, with manners and poise and sea green eyes. This was the best they could do, the closest they would ever get to having what they wanted, needed. Her caustic firebender and his elegant princess, in another room – _galaxies away_ – unattainable and celebrating their impending and permanent union. Korra wondered if it would always be like this for them – a lonely Avatar and a broken General, each wallowing in misery and turning to the other when it became to much to bear alone. Maybe it would.

He was kicking a door closed behind him then, gentle, urgent hands deftly untying her gown. The silk slid like water over her bare skin, whispering as it fell. His coat and tunic were next, followed by the pins that held her painstaking waves in place – _Asami had worked so hard on them – _and when the rest of their clothing was shed they were clawing at each other. Nails scraping against skin and teeth cutting into lips as they crashed onto the mattress. The room had become unbearably hot and Korra welcomed the sensation, begged it to burn away everything but the two of them and the friction that was steadily increasing.

Iroh was licking a trail along her jaw, down the column of her throat. She moaned at the feel of his hands sliding over her – treating her preciously, even if she wasn't who he wanted. Her fingers tangled in his thick hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly. He brought his lips back to hers for a deep kiss and she sighed into his mouth. When he finally broke that last barrier, when he took her for his own, Korra lost herself to the pure rapture of it all. They crashed against one another, starving for more and undulating in their rhythm. Iroh's hands found hers, fingers tangling together as he pressed her deeper into the mattress, claiming her mouth in another searing kiss.

And then the world exploded. As they lay there, intertwined and gasping for air in the aftermath, Korra thanked La that she had at least been given Iroh, since she could not have the one she loved. He stirred then and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses up her belly, igniting her again, and together they lost themselves once more.

Together, they tried to forget about the two people – the ghosts they were so fruitlessly chasing – who had brought them to one another in the first place.

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_So, what did you think of that? This is the first story I've written that contains anything remotely resembling a lemon, so please don't be too harsh on me for that. Should this be rated higher than a T? I'd hate to have it removed from the archive. Korra's dress is a 40s style sleeveless gown, and her hair is modeled in the same wavy-locks look favored by the women of that time period. In case it wasn't clear - Korra and Iroh are both in love with Mako and Asami respectively, but Mako and Asami are engaged to be wed, so Korra and Iroh seek solace in each other. _

_Once again, thank you to _lovelydangerousdear _for her bubbling excitement over this fic. You're awesome girlie!_

_~Anna_


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